The Number of Steps on the Grand Staircase
by Aeromance
Summary: After the War, time slows down to a trickle. Many nights find Harry Potter hiding from his world in Muggle bars, unsure where to go. A friendly surprise makes him realize what he had taken for granted.


Creaking was the only form of quiet protest the old bar stool gave as weight toppled upon it. As green eyes averted down to inspect the chair, a gruff voice halted him.

"Don't worry about it. Damn thing's been makin' noise for years, but won't give out unless you toss a Buick on it." Harry laughed effortlessly at the joke as the barman let a lopsided smile show and pressed a beer forward into his eager hands. Quickly, Harry tilted the beer up and began to swallow the bitter drink that he had learned to love over the years. The bar was too loud for the bartender to hear the clear hollow ring in Harry's laugh. For some reason, Muggle humor had become lost on Harry and no longer had the ability to make him laugh.

His warm fingers gently rubbed over the misty glass of his cup, collecting moisture, as he looked side to side to survey the bar. Little interest filled his eyes, as he didn't plan to see anyone he knew, nor did he expect to find anyone who would catch his eye. Again, Muggle people just never seemed to hold his focus longer than a passing conversation in between getting drinks. Now, with the obvious absence of the touch of the magical world he was used to, places like these seemed to be devoid of color and life, excitement and intrigue. Yet, sometimes, times exactly like this particular night, a dull night was exactly what Harry needed.

Another pull of the cold, bitter liquid had him coughing lightly as he regretted his drink choice. Some butterbeer would do nicely on such a night, but, fuck, he really did need this. Not that he truly sought out boring and mundane, but it was such a refreshing leave from the constant stream of people. People, fucking people! They seemed to come out of the woodwork after the war. Whether it be reporters, old friends, new acquaintances – all looking for the same thing: time with the great Harry Potter, the defeater of Voldemort, the Master of Death, the Hero of England. That wasn't who he was. That was who he had to be, and now, he was barely Just Harry. Now, he was just tired.

And that was what nights like these were for, for when he was tired and worn out, almost as tired as he was hunting and camping in random wildernesses. It was worse now, perhaps, because he just didn't have a fucking clue what he should do with his life now that the all-important mission was finally done with.

And he came here to drink alone to drown out depressing thoughts just like that. Harry tilted back his mug and made to finish it off.

Someone pulled out a chair and made to sit next to him at the bar, which was an oddity in and of itself, but what really got Harry was the immediaterecognition of the person. The sour beer caught in his throat and his mouth forced it back up, spluttering onto the bar as he coughed and tried to gaze with watery eyes at the man next to him. Merlin, he hadn't seen him since… Fuck. Harry quickly blinked, he wasn't that drunk yet. When had he last seen him? The most recent memory that immediately pressed itself to the forefront of his mind was the official Ministry Gala to celebrate the end of the war, but it hadn't really been that long had it? Surely, he had seen him at other, more recent functions, whether official or just casual parties of mutual friends.

Harry leaned back to let the bartender wipe away the mess with a rag. He had the decency to shoot a sheepish and apologetic smile to both the bartender and his new companion. The man next to him contented himself with silence and merely smiled with obvious amusement lighting up his eyes. Wiping away any excess at his mouth with his sleeve, Harry looked him up and down with slight surprise. Time had always been kind to Neville. He honestly just seemed to get better each and every year since Harry had met the bumbling, forgetful boy eight years ago.

"Hello, Neville," Harry tried for smooth and an effect of nonchalance, but Neville's expression was all the evidence he needed to see his failure. As if Harry broke some unmentioned silence spell, Neville burst out laughing at Harry. Knowing full-well that he deserved to be laughed at and, had the roles been reversed, he would have laughed at himself just as much, and probably sooner, Harry still immediately jumped to his own defense. "Oi! You surprised me, mate. Not my fault when you go sneaking up on a bloke like that. Especially the kind of surprises I'm used to." The laughter stopped immediately. Harry turned away from Neville to motion for another drink from the wary bartender. It was a low blow, he knew, but Harry didn't particularly care for the situation at all – it was just not on to have someone from his life waltz into his favorite Muggle bar while he was busy trying to start the ritual of drowning his pathetic thoughts. Not that he held any particular disdain for Neville. He attempted to surreptitiously eye the man as he accepted the new mug from the bartender. In fact, if Harry had to choose anyone from his life to find him here, it would probably have to be Neville. He knew Neville wouldn't push him for anything (details, galleons, stories, references, or the like) nor would he used this new knowledge to find him here again. Harry sighed happily into his beer, happy to see Neville for once. That thought made him freeze at the oddness of it. He never disliked Neville, of course, but never before had he been happy to see him. He had always melted into the background. The man had taken down Voldemort's deadly familiar for Merlin's sake. Something Harry and Hermione hadn't been able to do when they met Nagini at Godric's Hollow.

Harry turned towards Neville and watched him sipping a beer, the smile still evidently on his face as he drank. Harry was glad Neville hadn't taken his comment too hard. Those kinds of words were often able to silence an entire room and leave an awkward quiet stagnating the air for aching minutes on end. "So," Harry coughed, trying to clear the still awkward air of this odd meeting, "What brings you to this M- out of the way bar?"

After setting down his drink, Neville shot a cursory glance around the room and then met eyes with Harry again. "Are you waiting for someone? I can go." His eyebrows drew up into an expression that took him back five years into the small, unsure Neville Harry used to know.

His body seemed ready to jump up at a moment's notice. Harry leaned forward to press a hand to Neville's shoulder. "No. Stay." He didn't necessarily mean the words until he saw Neville would so easily leave him to his silence and realized that this was most likely much better than that alternative. Harry drew his face into a pinched expression as he realized the way his reaction and words could easily be taken. "Neville, I was just surprised to see you at…this kind of bar. I'm not expecting anyone at all." He affected an easy smile for Neville, something that being a public figure demanded of a lot. Although, this one felt more genuine than most reassuring smiles he had to give lately. "I'm glad I ran into you." He removed his hand once he felt the tension leave Neville's shoulder and was sure he wouldn't run away at first notice.

Neville returned a bright smile. "Thanks, Harry." He wasn't sure what exactly he was being thanked for, but he accepted it with a shrug all the same. Neville took another pull of his beer – or was that ale? Harry could never tell the difference – before continuing. "And to answer your question, Sam got me into Muggle bars and taverns" – Harry shot a wary look around to make sure no one had heard that – "and I haven't kicked the habit yet. This is the closest decent one for an after work drink, so here I am." Neville shrugged and kept up his easy smile. Since when did Neville stop being so – Harry wrinkled his nose in thought for the proper adjective - …Neville? Standing up to the school-appointed Death Eaters and becoming somewhat of a leader in Harry's absence had caused him to realize Neville had changed somewhat but it seemed that just now he was seeing how much. Yet, he was so much the same.

"Wait, Sam?" Harry hoped he wasn't offending Neville by inquiring about his spouse. So many people rushed into marriage right after the war, swept up in the joy of an easy peace that the Wizarding World hadn't experienced in decades. He hoped Neville hadn't been one of those. Why would he care whether or not Neville got married?

It was Neville's turn to splutter slightly and cough awkward. "We- we dated for a while. Then I realized he was, more or less, using me to get closer to… well, you. So, I dumped him." The earnest nonchalance that Neville had in his voice made Harry ache and want to reach out to do- well, something. He wasn't sure what, but something. He understood that he was overshadowed by Harry, but unlike Ron, he didn't get mad and jealous, nor did he try to overcompensate in other ways, like Hermione. Neville was simply content with who he was, and that made Harry ache with something that tasted like respect and longing.

He opened his mouth to offer a poor apology, but what came out was, "Wait, he?" How eloquent. He focused his withering glare for his loose tongue at the bottom of his glass as he drank, still waiting for Neville's response to that very subtle question.

Neville simply raised his eyebrows at Harry's tactless statement, obviously not offended. Which Harry could only be extremely thankful for. "Yeah. He." Neville pronounced the words slowly and couldn't suppress the widening smiles and chuckles. Harry turned to mumble into his beer and found it empty. Then again, there weren't many occasions when, if he drank every time he did or said something off, he wouldn't run out of beer quite fast.

"Yes, well, I never knew." Damn it. For some reason he was the one blushing slightly and embarrassed. If anything about this night got any more queer, Harry was calling it quits on bar night.

The good humor that this put Neville in only seemed to increase. "It was never exactly a secret, mate. Even before I admitted anything, it was as obvious as the number of stairs on the grand stair case." Neville said in an odd tone with a smile. Harry knew exactly who he was mocking.

"Hermione tell you that?" Harry returned Neville's smile and chuckled.

Eyebrows shot up higher. "Yeah, she did. How did you know?"

Of course, there was the easy out of simply pointing out that she has been his best friend for eight years now and who the bloody hell else would use such an expression, but Harry opted for something much better. "She said the same thing to me when…" Yes, that was clearly the better answer to Neville's question. "Well, she's said the same thing to me several times actually."

Neville shook his head in mild acceptance of Harry's obvious attempt to cover something up. Harry was grateful that. He was grateful for a lot of things about Neville. Things that he, and everyone else, seemed to usually take for granted. Or was that only him? Was he the only one who hadn't noticed what Neville had grown into? Hermione had obviously watched Neville and seen what he had become. Why hadn't Harry? Even if the war was an adequate excuse for why he hadn't paid much attention to Neville in school, what about this past year? Neville had always been there, at his side, quietly supporting him throughout his entire seven years. Never leaving him because of anger and jealousy, or ignoring him in lieu of focusing on his romantic issues with other friends, or even criticizing him when he hadn't been the most popular in school, which seemed to happen every other month.

"Harry…are you listening? Blimey, you aren't that drunk yet, are you?" Shit, Neville had been talking and, once again, he had been ignoring him.  
>"I'm really sorry, Neville. What were you saying?" Neville averted his eyes at the overt sincerity of Harry's words, obviously having no idea about his guilty inner monologue.<p>

"I- well, I was talking about how dating after the war seems to be impossible. Because...everyone seems to want something out of it, like..." This time, Neville used his drink to get him out of saying something he didn't want to, but Harry had an idea of exactly what he would have said had he been unable to interrupt himself.  
>Something hot gripped Harry's insides as he stared at the man before him. Before the feeling evaporated, Harry blurted out his feelings. "Neville, will you go out to dinner with me?"<p>

Turning to him in surprise, Neville looked him up and down before wrinkling his forehead and lowering his eyes, obviously hurt by the statement. "Harry- I …I don't need help." He looked back up again, every ounce of the man that Harry was growing to respect and appreciate. "I'm fine. I'll find someone, maybe once the dust has really settled from…everything." It was still odd to refer to everything that had happened in such a blasé manner.

Resisting the rejection, the hot feeling squeezed tighter. "Neville, no." Harry reached forward and touched Neville's forearm slowly. "I wasn't- It wasn't anything." This clearly wasn't working properly. "I want to. It's not you, it's me." Neville's eyes widened at him and he began to slowly withdraw his arm. Christ, Harry was bad at this. It sounded like he was trying to break up with him. His hand stubbornly refused to be shaken off and gripped Neville's arm tighter. "I want to do this. I want you." Fuck, great, now this sounded like a booty call. Harry groaned. "I mean, I want to get to know you." That sounded like something that couldn't be too horribly misconstrued in any way.

Neville's face lightened, obviously much obliged with having something he could actually reply to. "But, Harry, you do know me. You've known me for eight years. I reckon there's not much else to know about me."

Inwardly, he had to rejoice. Finally, he had something good, he thought, to say before he opened his mouth. Harry leaned forward and smiled conspiratorially. "Neville, you have changed."


End file.
